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King Tolstots Symphony 


OR 


AN ADAMLESS EVE 


A CODHTERPjll^T TO THE K^EUTZER SON^Tjl 


/ 


By 

H. B. S. 






SFP 1 1890 

'YdSHINGtO**' 


'' '--^S-yvT— J 


Copyright 1890, By LAIRD & LEE 
r ( All rights reserved ) 


The Pastime Series. Issued monthly. By Subscription $3.00 per annum. 
No. 43, Aug., 1890. Extra. Entered at Chicago Postofhce as 
Second-class matter. 


CHICAGO 

LAIRD & LEE, Publishers 
1890 


'I 


I 




» r' 


* ^ 



% 

Id- • 

I ' 

I 




MY FRIEND AND PUPIL, 


RALPH SCHOOLFIELD GRACE, 

THIS LITTLE VOLUME IS HUMBLY DEDICATED 

BY 


THE AUTHOR. 


AUTHOR’S PREFACE. 


I FORESEE scores of spicy criticisms. 
I expect them. That in itself ought to 
be my redeeming literary feature. 

I have not attempted satire. I have 
been urged to write this counterpart to 
the “ Kreutzer Sonata ” by the timely 
warning given by some of our govern- 
ment officials, and I am sure it (I mean 
the book) will have a salutary effect upon 
the reading public. 

It is intended as a serio-comical parody. 
Whenever you can’t laugh, why just make 
up your mind that it is not funny; but be- 
fore you throw it aside look at it again 
from the other side, and watch the change. 

H. B. S. 


Lake View, August lo, 1890. 


KING TOLSTOY’S SYMPHONY 


OR 

AN ADAM LESS EVE 


CHAPTER I. 

Man was not created for the sake of matrimony, but matri- 
mony was created for the sake of man. 

Marriage is neither a prison nor a prisoner’s chain, but it is 
a moral relation, an exchange of love and esteem. 

Several young damsels, whose respect- 
ive ages are best represented by the 
algebraical expression X"", were comfort- 
ably seated in a semicircle on the poop 
of a deep-water vessel. Their conversa- 
tions were at times low and inaudible; at 
times their voices were drowned by the 
seething of the waves and the flapping of 
the sails. Far away in the airy distance 
the faint contour of mountains was to be 


i6 


KING TOLSTOY^ S SYMPHONY 


seen, over which hovered shredded fila- 
ments of cirrus clouds. 

The last rays of the dying- sun were 
still faintly shining on the figure-head, 
when a deep contralto voice exclaimed : 

'' Dudidoff! rush the log-book along!’' 

The tone of the speaker plainly indi- 
cated that she possessed a right to com- 
mand the one spoken to. 

Presently, Dudidoff, attired in a close- 
fitting navy blue suit, came dawdling 
along, hugging a huge polyhedral book. 
Whether it was due to the sway of the 
ship or to the spanking ‘‘Noreaster” 
playing with the jibboom does not so 
much interest us, but the fact remains 
that the so-called log-book was very un- 
steady in the hands of Dudidoff. After 
considerable tacking she reached the 
center of the group in an exhausted and 
fairly demoralized condition. Again that 
same contralto voice, in crescendo tones, 
spliced with fortissimos, shouted: 


KING TOLSTOY'S SYMPHONY 


1 / 


‘'Trip aloft and keep a sharp lookout 
for shoals and shallow water ! ” 

Simultaneously with this command they 
all arose save one. She was reclining- on 
an outstretched steamer chair covered by 
a Smyrna rug. Her eyes were closed 
and inflamed ; her features contorted as if 
she had been in the coma of a narcotic. 
Her complexion was sallow and olive; 
her hands thin and dainty. The noise, 
similar to the moving of a table at a 
seance, occasioned by the rising of her 
comrades evidently awoke her. She 
slowly opened her eyes, cast them sky- 
ward, and in a drawling voice enchant- 
ingly soliloquized : 

“ The polar star is at an angle of eight- 
een degrees, and are we no nearer 



She was interrupted by the hysterical 
quivering of a bell, accompanied with the 
tramping of feet going below. 

All was still. A glowing disk of fire 
was now perceptible in the skies ; a few 

King Tolstoy’s Symphony 2 


i8 


KING TOLSTOY'S SYMPHONY 


stars glittered in the firmament. There 
was no sign of life as far as the eye could 
reach except the form of two women on 
the deck of this vessel. 

After stretching out one of her emaciated 
hands for a glass of lime juice, which she 
eagerly imbibed, she was seized with a 
terrific spell of coughing. 

“ And now,” she said, addressing the 
one who had before given the orders, “ I 
will relate to you what has prompted me 
to make this voyage. It is not a horrible 
tale, not a frightful story, but still the 
very thought of it unnerves me. I could 
never heretofore induce myself to let my 
lips unfold the hidden tale.” 

Her large, dark eyes flashed, her nose 
was drawn clear under her eyebrows, as 
she again was seized by a coughing spell. 

‘‘ Sit close to me, so that you may hear 
it all ! Oh, how many nights has that star 
yonder watched me bewailing my misery. 
Misery did I say, ah no, for where there 
is love, misery liveth not.” 


KING TOLSTOY^ S SYMPHONY 


19 


She again sipped at her glass, and with 
a heavy effort straightened herself into a 
sitting posture, and again resumed: 

^‘For you to get a thorough idea of 
my life, I will begin at the start and 
finish at the end; ah yes, for the end is 
close at hand — How many miles have 
we still to make ?” 

She continued without awaiting a reply. 

‘'Why and wherefore I was born I 
know not, and why I have lived thus only 
the gods can tell — but do you know, I 
am a wreck; nobody wants to earn the 
salvage, consequently I am doomed.” 
The sad expression which had thus far 
covered her face suddenly disappeared, 
to be lit up by a smile. 

“ But to go back still further — Before 
I was born my father was captain of a 
steamer, and I remember being told that 
sometimes he would force other captains 
to surrender their cargo to him, and some- 
times he would trade off his ballast for 
their slaves. This was usually done at 


20 


KING TOLSTOY'S SYMPHONY 


sea, so — Ah ! but even if it were not so I 
could not have been otherwise, for it was 
not to be. My life then started on the 
water — oh, how I love the water; oh, how 
I cling to the place of my birth — ” 

She now burst into tears, and so ringing 
her hands above her head she bemoan- 
ingly, and intermingled with weeping, 
cried aloud. After several moments of 
silence she continued. 

Shortly before my father’s demise he 
told me who my mother had been and 
how she came to be his wife — but I was 
too young to either understand or appre- 
ciate it. 

“My father was shipwrecked off an 
island in the Pacific Ocean, and, of the 
entire crew, nobody was saved but a 
little girl about twelve years of age. 
That was I. The island belonged to a 
king, called Tolstoy, and he was the sole 
and only Tolstoy on Jusanoff Island; why 
should I relate to you how I spent my 
girlhood days — or how happy I felt for 


Jir/ATG TOLSTOY^ S SYMPHONY 


21 


many, many years ! It is not part of my 
story. Suffice to say I first fell — ” 
“Fell?’' interrupted the listener in 
amasement. 

“ Yes ! I first fell in love at a garden 
party held in honor of the king’s broth- 
er-in-law. Those times were very trying; 
for hours I would sit on the beach, think- 
ing of the watery grave my poor father 
was in, and, whilst thus sittin^y a picture 
of him would rise up before me. I tried 
every means to wean myself away from 
his affection; I toiled with laborious ef- 
forts to loosen myself from the yoke. I 
strove to disintangle myself from these 
fetters, but all to no use; I was under 
their ban. He lived with me in every 
thought, in every — ” 

Before she could finish the sentence, 
the tinkling of the bell was again heard. 

The relieving watch came on deck ; the 
retiring watch went below. Side-lights 
out! red light on starboard quarter! was 
the order given. Then all hands joined 


22 


KING TOLSTOY* S SYMPHONY 


in the retiring salvo: “Bye, bye Miss!” 
The contralto voice again resounded 
through the chaotic stillness, and the 
possessor thereof re-occupied the seat 
opposite Pontypoff, who now continued : 
“You, Slippysoff, are acquainted with 
the earlier history of my life, but you 
cannot conceive it unless I rehearse to 
you the causes that led to it. For the 
causes are more terrible, if terrible it can 
be called, than the end. Oh! I feel as if 
a cold wave were passing over me when 
I recall the details of his devotion. At 
first it amused me, then pleased me, then 
I longed for it, and finally it became a 
necessity to my existence. I remember 
that I once remained for hours in a dark 
room, in sheer misery, because he had 
disappointed me. And how he loved me! 
I have never spoken about his love. I 
never breathed it to anyone, but I feel 
urged to now give vent to my pent-up 
feelings. Do you know what love is? 
Ah! love is a great thing, a sublime 


KING TOLSTOY^ S SYMPHONY 


23 


feeling-, an exalted sentiment. It elevates 
the mind, the soul ; urges one to nobler 
motives, nobler deeds. I can still see 
him before me on that morning.” 

Suddenly the vessel gave a terrific 
lurch leeward, and Pontypoff paused for 
some moments. 

“Oh! I quite forgot what I was going 
to tell you.” 

“You spoke of that morning,” said 
Slippysoff. 

“Yes! He came to woo me. I had 
for some time noticed that he was deeply 
in love. He was growing thinner day by 
day; love was consuming him. Even the 
doctor said, ‘ King Tolstoy is in love — ' 
But, to go back to a period more inter- 
esting; do you know what preludes love, 
dear Slippysoff? 

“No, dear Pontypoff, I was never in 
love.” 

“Then it will be difficult for you to 
understand my story, for those who have 
never experienced it, and I dare say 


24 


KING TOLSTOY^ S SYMPHONY 


there are some, among the wild tribes of 
Africa, who can not realize what effect it 
has upon the soul. 

''What preludes love.^ It is a sort of 
inward passion that burns like the rays 
of the equatorial sun, and to the world 
presents itself as the sacred courtship. 
My courtship lasted for many years. It 
was like a perennial honeymoon. Each 
year, when the flowers bloomed afresh. 
King Tolstoy was wont to send me a 
selected bouquet of alfalfa grass and new- 
mown hay. What a token of devotion ! 
After several years I became accustomed 
to this gift, and discounted it, for, dear 
Slippysoff, otherwise it would have been 
detrimental to my nervous system. 

"Yes, nervous prostration — that is 
another symptom of love. It is a legiti- 
mate function, at times not beneficial to 
the health. Those fainting spells and 
neuralgic headaches are obligatory in the 
first stages of love. Whenever I suffered 
with attacks of migrane, the court phy- 


ir/N'G TOLSTOY^ S SYMPHONY 


25 


sician attended me. Ah ! this physician, 
how many times he was my savior ! I 
do believe that disease could be entirely 
extirpated if patients would only follow 
one-tenth of the advice given by these 
pontiffs of science. If venesection could 
be practiced on the heart, then, the blood 
thereof infused into the heart of another, 
cardiac diseases might be unknown. But 
I am again straying from my subject. 
I felt the necessity of his courtship, of his 
attentions, and year after year it became 
more of a boon. How different if he had 
been a literary artist! He might have 
written sonnets and chants, adored me in 
verse and in rhyme. But it was not to 
be ” 

At that moment a gust of wind rent the 
gaff-topsail, and plunged them in total 
darkness by extinguishing the side-lights. 


CHAPTER II. 


“ Man is dear to man ; the poorest poor 
Long for some moments in a weary life 
When they can know and feel that they have been 
Themselves the fathers and the dealers-out 
Of some small blessings ; have been kind to 
Such as needed kindness, for this single cause 
That we have all of us one human heart.” 

Total darkness still reigned. 

To be loved was to be happy, and no 
one can be happy without receiving or 
delivering love. Such were the thoughts 
that flashed through her brain. To poor 
Slippysoff now lying outstretched at her 
feet she was about to continue telling the 
story of her life — the romance of her love, 
when Slippysoff said : 

“ Will you impart to me the entire 
story of your love affair ? ” 

“Yes, child, ” was the answer. “It will 
give me pleasure to inveigle you into a 
similar confession, but even if I do not 

26 


KING TOLSTOY'S SYMPHONY 


27 


succeed, I will proceed; and she then 
started relating. 

“ When I was eight years old, and one 
day reading a story about John the 
Sunday-school teacher, a gentleman ap- 
proached me. He was not goodlooking, 
but very homely — his hair was not curly 
for he wore a wig. This is the epoch 
from which my life’s story really starts. In 
a very gentlemanly way he bowed to me, 
and asked me if my father was at home. 
Of course the mention of my father’s 
name brought the tears to my eyes. I 
told him that m)f^ father was dead. He 
seemed very melancholy and sad to re- 
ceive such information, but his deep 
sorrow was not betrayed by any other 
visible sign. He spoke to me so friendly, 
so paternally that I could not help but 
like him, notwithstanding his homely 
visage. 

'^Oh, Slippysoff, believe me, I then 
loved him — loved him in a childish, naive 
way — yes, that was the first sign of an in- 


28 


KING TOLSTOY^S SYMPHONY 


nocent, girlish love. His dress was re- 
pulsive; he did not wear any Prince 
Albert coat and high hat, no white linen 
shirt, or standing up collar, but still I 
loved him. Do you know, ever since I 
have often thought why are not just such 
love reminiscences written about in novels, 
instead of the rude things they say about 
the heroes and heroines. Why, I read a 
book where a man kills his wife, it is the 
most shocking thing out. 

Then I did not see him again for almost 
a year. I had just gone in bathing with 
my governess, when we saw him stand- 
ing on the beach picking up shells. 
When he saw we wanted to go into our 
bath-houses, he retired. A little later he 
returned, and presented me with a basket 
of oysters. Do you know, Slippysoff, I 
felt an irresistible feeling as if I wished 
to give him a kiss — he was so good to 
me, so attent;ive. When he left me that 
day I thought a great deal more of him, 
and for a long time thereafter I con- 


KING TOLSTOY^ S S YMPNONY 


29 


stantly asked myself why I liked Kin^ 
Tolstoy so much. He was certainly not 
handsome, nor captivating: he was not a 
great scholar, nor a very imposing man, 
but still I loved him. 

‘'And it was very difficult to capture 
me, for I was a rough diamond. I was 
yet unpolished. I, at that time, already 
had peculiar ideas about men’s behavior, 
and I still remember one day my gover- 
ness and myself had a long conversation 
about love. She said love was generally 
a stupid feeling, and natural to experience 
at some period during one’s life, time; 
whilst I contended that it was one of the 
noblest, purest and most sublime senti- 
ments man could feel. She related to 
me a great many cases which she quoted 
as illustrations for the sustenance of her 
theory, but in every instance I pointed 
out that I was right.” 

“Have you ever heard of parents mar- 
rying their children to whomsoever they 
liked ? ” 


30 


KING TOLSTOY'S SYMPHONY 


'‘Yes, I have heard of cases ! 

“ Well, I think that a great wrong, be- 
cause, what is marriage ? It is the exhi- 
bition of true love. It is the logical con- 
clusion, the logical deduction. Now, how 
can parents feel the love that lies dormant 
and latent in the bosoms of their children ? 
Impossible. Ridiculous. Why, one might 
as well say woman should propose to 
man. Of course in leap years they 
might, but the marriageable men are 
generally scarce then. My governess 
proposed to three men in one day ; the 
first said he was not old enough to get 
married ; the second said he had a terri- 
ble aversion to mothers-in-law; and the 
third one said, almost in tears, ‘Ma won’t 
let me.’ Poor girl ! she vowed never to 
propose again.” 

^ “ But,” Slippysoff now chimed in, “don’t 
we have a right to propose after mar- 
riage — or if we should be blessed with 
children, are we not allowed to propose 
for them ? ” 


KING TOLSTOY^ S SYMPHONY 


31 


“ Certainly ! ” responded Pontypoff, 
now growing excited, “but women do not 
abuse their privileges — they are the bees 
— the men the drones, and still, they are 
always subordinate and servants of men. 
Why, just imagine the many milliards of 
dollars annually squandered for the 
whims and fancies of men. Just look at 
the revenue that is annually taken in 
over there in the small republic of Amer- 
ica, and that does not include illicit dis- 
tilling, or stamps that are used twice — 
yes, tobacco and alcohol — they are the 
curse of the nineteenth century. Just 
think of the many poor women who 
slave from early morn to late at night, 
rolling cigarettes for dudes. And then, 
besides that, we labor for them, they ex- 
pect us to eat their ice creams and 
marrons glaces. Notwithstanding that 
everybody is talking of co-education of 
women, they are seemingly not able to 
free themselves from this yoke. 

“Yes, and what influence the men 


32 


KING TOLSTOY^ S SYMPHONY 


wield; why to balls or concerts — 
the men occupy all the leading- positions 
— they are ushers, floor-walkers; why, of 
late, even walking delegates; they have 
even taken the places away from women 
in the household — they are cooks, wait- 
ers, butlers, and so on; soon they will be 
wearing looped skirts and decollete ball 
dresses. 

But they act thus because they seek 
to rake in the shekels so that they can 
clothe themselves in silks and moires. 
Some wear black silk shirts and waist- 
bands. And this effort to outrival the 
women, who are entitled to outrank them 
in fineries in dress, goes hand in hand 
with their vanity. Most of them carry 
mirrors with them — even the young ones, 
yes, and the older they get the more 
chronic becomes this state of morbid mal- 
ady — Oh! Slippysoff, it is detestable — 
and how unjust to accuse us poor women 
of being proud ” 


KING TOLSTOY^ S SYMPHONY 


33 


Pontypoff was silent for a moment, and 
then resumed: 

“ After he presented me with those oys- 
ters he sent me twice a year some little 
present, and though it was but a trifle, 
I appreciated the attention so much, it 
showed his noble heart. Thus the time 
elapsed until my sixteenth birthday; on 
that day he again called upon me in per- 
son, and, believe me, Slippysofif, we had 
a most serious talk — ” 

' “ Why serious ? ” 

She was again seized with a fit of ner- 
vous coughing, and for some moments 
paused. 




Klne Tolstoy’s Symphony 3 


CHAPTER III. 

‘Hndeed it was serious — for he told 
me he loved me. And I could tell by 
his speech, by the earnest expression of 
his eyes, by the warmth of his plea, that 
he was sincere. True, I was sixteen, but 
I was not in love. I loved when I was 
eight, when I was nine, and when I was 
ten, and when I was eleven, and when I 
was twelve; but was I now in love ? Yes; 
but it was not that true, deep love which 
he gave me. I could not reciprocate his 
love, and so the result of our serious talk 
was that I was forced to tell him, although 
it pained me to the deep — I was com- 
pelled to say the word, I do not love you ! 
He became speechless, his lips livid, his 
eyes rolled in agony, his heart bled, but 
alas, what could I do? Oh, had I acted 


34 


KING TOLSTOY^ S SYMPHONY 


35 


differently it might have been different; 
but, oh no, it was to be ! 

“ I felt I would be far happier if I could 
love, love so worthy a man, a man with 
the highest ideas of propriety and honor; 
a man who would scorn to even look im- 
properly. Never in all those seven years 
did he press his lips to my face, but on 
that day he said: ‘ Pontypoff, if you love 
me, kiss me.’ Oh, how I would have loved 
to grant him his wish, but I dared not. I 
always believed that marriage is an abso- 
lute result of true love, and that, therefore, 
the continuance of mankind is indirectly 
based on love. Now, why should I dese- 
crate this doctrine; why should I disinte- 
grate a law of humanity. Slippysoff, 
believe me, it was a hard task to refuse 
poor Tolstoy that one kiss he so eagerly 
yearned for. But I did smooth his 
ruffled feelings when I told him that if 
ever I learned to love him as he deserved 
I would from my own accord imprint my 
lips upon his forehead. 


36 


KING TOLS TO V^S SYMPHONY 


“We saw each other far more fre- 
quently after this occurrence — he bore 
the shock which my refusal had given 
him with heroic patience — he never wav- 
ered — never flinched from the narrow 
path of honor. But at times he would 
say: ‘ Dear Pontypoff, will you ever love 
me? ' My answer usually was — ‘ I will 
try and learn to love you.’ 

“ Thus passed winter after winter. , He 
still continued courting and wooing me 
with the same perseverance, the same 
warmth, as ever — at times I doubted if I 
would ever love him — no, more, if I can 
ever give him as worthy a love, as pure 
a devotion, as he strenuously kept up for 
ten years. I doubt it to-day.” 

Again she burst into bitter sobs, and 
for quite a time she remained unconscious 
to her surroundings, alone in her heart 
with her true lover, King Tolstoy. Slow- 
ly she began — in a sort of monsyllabic 
phrasing — 

Oh, why do I love him to-day, and 


KING TOLSTOY^ S SYMPHONY 


37 


how is it I cannot shower that love, be- 
stow that blessing, upon him. Oh, Slip- 
pysoff, when I left him, I said to him — 
‘ If you remain true to me during my ab- 
sence, and I can feel for you as I do now, 
then I love you.’ Oh! why was it to be ? 
Poor, broken-hearted man, how these 
years must have told on him; these years 
of devotion, of constant anguish, for his 
dear Pontypoff. Why was I so cruel ? 
I have paid for it — I have paid for it.” 

Pontypoff again sobbed and trembled. 
Her face became delicate and pale. 

“ Yes,” said she, suddenly, “ I will finish 
my tale and then you can judge me. 
Shortly after those frequent visits he was 
called away for a short period to his 
brother-in-law, who was about to select a 
wife. Then only did I feel that I loved 
him a little, and it grew stronger day by 
day, until his absence became unendur- 
able to me. I sent a messenger to him, 
under some pretext, saying that a hostile 


KING TOLSTOY^ S SYMPHONY 


army was approaching;- the city hall. His 
answer was: 


* If I were loved, as I desire to be, 

What is there in the great sphere of the earth, 
And range of evil between death and birth, 
That I should fear — if I were loved by theel 


“ Upon his return we used to have 
many earnest conversations — he used to 
explain to me what his sensations were 
during our separation. I listened, seem- 
ingly astonished, although I felt the same. 
But I would not acknowledge it to my- 
self, and tried every means to fight down, 
to suppress this sentiment that was con- 
stantly coming to the fore. Only once 
during our entire acquaintance did he 
allude to a topic which made me blush. 
He asked me to tell him frankly whom I 
thought better, men or women. I said, 
men. And I certainly do think so still. 
Of course, ‘ all is not gold that glitters.’ 
But there are really so few who are not 
genuine, who are counterfeit, that it is a 


ICING TOLSTOY'S SYMPHONY 


3^ 


very difficult matter to positively decide. 
What do you think, Slippysoff.^ ” 

“ I think women, because they are, 
quasi speaking, the sufferers for the sake 
of mankind; they sacrifice themselves for 
the sake of continuing the race.” 

Yes, that is true — but men are nobler, 
they are more indulgent, more yielding — 
they have as a rule finer characters.” 

On this point a lively debate ensued 
’twixt Slippysoff and Pontypoff, which 
they finally compromised by believing 
that there is no difference ; men and 
women are equally good. Pontypoff’s 
whole face expressed pain and still pleas- 
ure as she again took up the conversation. 

“ When I cast a retrospecUover my en- 
tire career, I am more than ever rec- 
onciled to the idea that love is the loftiest 
conception, the noblest feeling that man 
knows of. It is a beautiful occupation to 
bestow love upon another, and even if it 
be not reciprocated. I do not believe 


40 


KING TOLSTOY^ S SYMPHONY 


that lasting hatred or hostility can ever 
spring up between two true lovers. 

Probably you think I am again wan- 
dering from my story — not at all. I am 
giving you a detailed account of what led 
to this voyage. 

After I had completed my eighteenth • 
year I was taken very sick with congested 
chills. The court physician was a regular 
attendant at my bedside, and very often 
when I expected him to write a prescrip- 
tion he would unroll a missive that read 
thus : 

‘All the inner, all the outer world of pain 

True love would pierce and cleave, if thou wert minel 

or, 

‘Will you be fnine forever ?’ 

or, 

‘ Work without hope draws nectar in a sieve, 

And life without an object cannot live.’ 

“ But the outside world would misjudge 
these billets doux for various reasons, 
because they consider the reasons for 
things only and the explanation, the 


KING TOLSTOY'S SYMPHONY 


41 


reason is always more intricate than the 
apprehension. The world, perhaps, is 
too blase to discern pure moral senti- 
ments from corrupt conventional sayings; 
but, Slippysoff, believe, in all these letters 
he showed himself, as of yore, the pure, 
good man, prompted by noble motives. 
During my convalescence he called often, 
and we would discuss strange subjects 
and wander into the woods of the dim 
and unknown future. He was a great 
advocate of the emancipation of women, 
whilst I used to torment him by allusions 
to the emasculation of men. He believed 
that women were entitled to the same 
rights and privileges as men, and they 
could be educated to insist upon their 
being granted to them by a thorough 
course of education — learning acquired 
at the dissecting table and in the public 
courts could not be trampled upon. They 
would finally become an absolute neces- 
sity to mankind as co-workers and help- 
ers in the stride of progression. 


42 


KING TOLSTOY^ S SYMPHONY 


“ He always said the doctrines of Dar- 
win were incomplete. That man was 
created a being superior to the animal in 
every respect, and with the endowment 
of his intellect he would not only prove a 
boon to his inferiors, but a benefactor to 
all. Man can never sink to that depth, 
that grade which is occupied by animals.” 

.“But,’' retorted Slippysoff, “I have 
heard of some villains who have com- 
mitted deeds that animals would not be 
capable of.” 

“Ah, but they possessed a sick body, 
and mens sana in corpore sano, therefore 
their minds were irrational, and they be- 
came irresponsible for their acts.” 

Pontypoff now threw herself back and 
covered both her eyes with her hands as 
the western sky was rent by fire. It was 
weather-lightning. 


CHAPTER IV. 


“ The time will come when men 

Will be as pure and equal as the waves 
That seem to jostle and that never jar, 

. . . that interfuse, 

And in each other merge identity.” 

And, now/’ said Pontypoff, comes 
the climax of my story. Be prepared to 
hear the worst, for I sinned. Oh, if it 
had not been for this one event I would 
gladly close my eyes to seek perpetual 
rest, but I cannot until I make restitution. 
I learned to love another. How I fell 
into his meshes, or how I could ever even 
have cared for him, I do not know. I 
never did know. He was an English 
officer, from a noble family, and very 
wealthy. Forgive me, but I cannot help 
but laugh to think how arrogantly he 
strutted about, and how vain he was about 
his external appearance. It was on a 

43 


44 


KING TOLSTOY^ S SYMFHONY 


summer^s morn when I first met him. I 
had been for a walk along the beach with 
King Tolstoy, and we had a delightful 
conversation about the true inward feel- 
ing which we agreed to term love. I still 
can remember his face, how it radiated as 
he said: ‘ Let us conceive that all senti- 
ment in us be blended, be joined, for in- 
tellectual, moral and spiritual bien etre 
into one band, one confederation — love.’ 
That was his last word as he warmly 
shook my hand for the parting adieu. 
Soon thereafter this cockney came upon 
the scene. He accosted me, and with a 
thousand stereotyped apologies, excused 
himself for having taken the liberty. He 
wanted to find his way back to the Cele- 
bes Hotel. I politely showed him the 
way, but he seemed very reluctant to 
follow the direction I had shown him. 
He clung steadfast at my side until I 
arrived home. 'Au, you live hear,’ he 
exclaimed as we reached the door. I 
nodded in affirmation. I bid him good 


KING TOLSTOY'S SYMPHONY 


45 


morning, and was about to turn, when I 
accidentally saw him pull a small memor- 
andum book from his pocket and fixing 
his monocle in its proper attitude, he pen- 
ciled something. This, of course, excited 
my curiosity, and I questioned him what 
he had written. ‘You’ar sweet address, 
miss.’ Saying this, he stared me squarely 
in the eye. I blushed. That encour- 
aged him, and he asked me if I would al- 
low him the pleasure of calling upon me. 
I accorded him that privilege. Oh, what 
a fatal mistake that was. 

“ Inquisitiveness is women’s most de- 
plorable vice. It leads to so many com- 
plications; but even a further meeting 
with this unknown would have been pre- 
vented had I not blushed. Why do 
women blush, Slippysoff?” She again 
continued, without awaiting a reply — 

Blushing is an involuntary, at times un- 
conscious, manifestation of red blood cor- 
puscles in the lymphatics, and is generally 
due to shame. I was not ashamed; I 


46 


KING TOLSTOY'S SYMPHONY 


had no reason to be ashamed. 

That evening he called. I passed 

a detestable time, feeling annoyed at his 
frivolity. He left at about nine o’clock, 
and I hoped never to see him again. 
But it was my fate thus, and thus it was 
to be. Several times I noticed him 
lounging about the house. I consistently 
avoided his gaze. Thus, with endurance 
and determination, he kept up his game 
for months. Then I liked him better; he 
was decidedly good company, full of fun 
and tricks. From liking into passive lov- 
ing, and thence into active loving. 

“ It was in the fall of the year, on a 
pleasant cool night, he bid me good bye 
in the hall, giving me a kiss, — much 
against my will. I remonstrated quite 
loudly, just like one would do to a person 
that one cares for. The king passed the 
door; heard the unusual noise; recog- 
nized my voice. He entered. His face 
bore a quiet, peaceful appearance, but 
the rage was boiling within him, almost 


Jir/ArG TOLSTOY’S SYMPHONY 


47 


consuming him. He quietly said : ‘ Pon- 
typoff, what has happened ? ’ ‘ Lord 

Dunlo kissed me!' 'With your per- 
mission ? ' ' No ! ' Like a she-bear, 

when her cubs are being assaulted, he 
ferociously grasped him, and, with a 
mighty hurl, forced him into the street. 
He then rushed after him. I, too, crying, 
'For God’s sake, don’t kill him! ’ 'He 
suddenly let his arms drop to his side, as 
if he had been shot into the heart. My 
words pained him more, though, than any 
gun-shot wound ever could. The coward 
escaped. The king remained rooted to 
the ground for some moments, then his 
eyes, in a mournful, reproachful way 
searched for mine. Without saying a 
word he walked away leaving me to my- 
self. I have ofttimes since thought about 
— this . matter. Why did the king inter- 
fere? Why? Oh, I cannot answer it, for 
the tears would suffocate my voice. Ohl 
inquisitiveness and blushing.” 

Her face assumed a different aspect 


48 


KING TOLSTOY^ S SYMPHONY 


from that which it bore but a moment 
ago. A deathly pallor shaded her coun- 
tenance — her eyes glowed like the dying 
embers of a wood fire. 

“Oh, polar-star!” she exclaimed in a 
wild frenzy. “Is there no other refuge, 
no other atonement but death.^’' 

“Do not grieve,” said Slippysoff, ten- 
derly, “you are making yourself ill.” 

“ All my ailments are but like a drop to 
the ocean of pain that I caused him — to 
the one wound I inflicted upon him.” 

“Has it never healed.^” inquired Slip- 
pysoff. 

“ Oh yes, long since. Lord Dunlo 
paid dearly for that kiss ; it cost him his 
life.” 


vL 


CHAPTER V. 


“ a simple child, 

That lightly draws its breath, 

And feels its life in every limb — 

What should it know of death ?” 

The shouting of heigh-ho — heigh-ho 
and the pulling of halyards and braces in- 
terrupted Pontypoff in her narrating; she 
now went on. 

*‘The killing of Lord Dunlo widened 
the chasm that lay between us. Whether 
it was this which preyed on his mind, or 
the fact that I no longer showed even the 
faintest signs of being smitten, I have 
never been able to find out.” 

She again paused, giving vent to a 
quick succession of deep sighs. 

'' You no doubt thought that the epi- 
sode with the English lord, which I have 
just related to you, is the climax of my 
story. Oh no, you are wrong. It is the 

King Tolstoy’s Symphony 4 49 


KING TOLSTOY'S S YMPHQNY 


anti-climax — the turning point — the 
genuine climax is yet untold/' 

Again a deep sigh involuntarily escaped 
her lips, her brow became wrinkled. Her 
hands were nervously outstretched, her 
lips twitched. She continued : 

“ Slippysoff, I cannot describe to you 
the pangs and convulsions I endured for 
many months. Ofttinies I would drag 
my care-worn frame to the beach, and 
there mechanically sit for hours reflecting 
over my past, present and future. Did 
I love Dunlo? Was it that love that I 
once so many, many years ago felt for 
Tolstoy? Did that love for Tolstoy 
exist whilst I presumably deluded myself, 
induced myself to love another ? Or was 
it only a shadow, a flittering, refracted 
sentiment ? 

“From day to day I grew more melan- 
choly, until at last my heart became en- 
slaved, subjected to my mind — a sick 
mind ! Could I extinguish the last spark 
of love that had been smoldering in my 


KING TOLSTOY'S SYMPHONY 


51 


heart for years, and which every now 
and then glowed and flickered? Oh, yes, 
love is like a flame. It is pure; cannot 
be contaminated or disintegrated. It 
shines forth in marked contrast to its sur- 
roundings. Its life is dependent on oxy- 
gen — Love is also dependent on a stim- 
ulant. Both increase when they are 
fanned. Both die when they are neglected. 
No, there is one kind of love which can- 
not be annihilated as long as the flame 
of life burns. Have I been a victim of 
this love ? ” 

She answered not; but her breast 
heaved like the swell of stormy water. 
She sobbed aloud, and this quieted her 
emotion, like oil on the tempestuous sea. 

'H felt myself drowning in the tide 
of his sincerity, and the thought of it 
resuscitated me. I could never love as 
worthily as he. Oh ! love is to a dying 
soul the greatest stimulant ; it is its 
greatest tonic, and of course the body 
receives the benefits accrued by the 


52 


KING TOLSTOY^ S SYMPHONY 


heart, the soul. It prolongs and sus- 
tains life, regenerates. Love is to an 
injured heart like an antiseptic dressing 
is to a morbid wound. It shields it, it 
prevents pyaemia. And those that have 
never experienced it have never lived 
— I had not until then — and instead 
of grasping the overhanging reeds, like 
a drowning person would do, I pushed 
them from me — I vowed not to love — 
but, have I broken my vow? Yes, 
and why ? Remorse, conscience pangs 
and heart convulsions were the factors 
that seduced me. His poor down- 
cast face haunted me. I could see his 
lips grow white, his face pale, and 
the dry tears on his cheek. Yes, he 
appeared thus to me in my dreams — I 
was in a continual nightmare. I knew 
that I had wronged him, that I had done 
his noble character an irreparable dam- 
age. But how could I face those eyes ; 
they would have said, ‘ Pontypoff, why 
did you select me, me from all mortals, as 


KING TOLSTOY’S SYMPHONY 


53 


the one to inflict so severe a punishment 
on ; have I deserved it ? ’ — No, would 
not speak thus, but those true, steel-gray 
eyes would mutely appeal to my con- 
science. All he would say and he did 
say was, ‘ remember the ides of May ! ’ ” 

And in this manner, at times totally 
incoherent, she soliloquized. 

“ Remember the ides of May! he told 
me that the only time we met, and several 
weeks after the duel in which Lord 
Dunlo had been killed. The ides of 
May? Why May? Then I remembered 
that was the time when we had our first 
serious talk. It had been on the 1 5th of 
May, just ten years ago. Strange, but 
May was to me always an unsympathetic 
month, and I imagine that love declara- 
tions should be made at the most suitable 
times. I had oftimes, prior to our 
estrangement, spoken with him on the 
subject of marriage. Yes, that is a grand 
topic, a sublime idea, a wonderful privi- 
lege. That two hearts who are destined 


54 


KING TOLSTOY^S SYMPHONY 


for each other by reason of common 
bonds should be allowed to cuddle each 
other through their entire life, should be 
one, is a privilege too exalted for us to 
understand. What can be more healing 
that when troubled, annoyed and irritated, 
to nestle in the arms of one who is right- 
fully entitled to hold and protect you ? 
What is a greater blessing than to im- 
partially share sorrow and pleasure with 
the one whom you love. Marriage is the 
holiest most sacred bond uniting two 
loving hearts. It is a reward for sin- 
cerity, friendship and love. It is as 
necessary for the continuance of mankind 
as light is for the reproduction of photo- 
graphs. It is an essential, an indispen- 
sable blessing. Matrimony is to love as 
the flower is to the plant. 

“ I see I am annoying you with this 
dry dissertation, so I will wander back 
and complete my story. During all these 
years my education was going on. I 
was taught by one who had had a prac- 


KING TOLSTOY^ S SYMPHONY 


55 


tical insight into life as it is on the 
Champs Elyse'es and Faubourg des Ital- 
zenSy or as it can be seen every afternoon 
on Rotten Row. She, the good, whole- 
souled, kind-hearted Mademoiselle Bola- 
Constantino, had experienced life in 
every phase. In her moral instruction 
to me she dwelt mostly, in fact harped, 
on the worth of a noble heart irrespect- 
ive of exterior charms, resplendent finessCy 
or great intellect. These latter were all 
in their place admirable attributes, but 
how fastidiously depraving would be the 
taste of him or her who would prefer 
them to sincerity, truth and honor. For 
hours she would speak about 'duty.’ To 
use her language, ‘Duty is the guide- 
post through life.’ She often said to me : 
‘ Pontypoff, if you should ever hesitate 
what road to travel; if there ever should 
be an uncertainty in your mind what path 
to tread, consult your sense of duty. It 
will keep you aloft ! it will keep you from 
sinking, for duty is the esteem you feel 


KING TOLSTOY^ S SYMPHONY 


for yourself/ And with such strict ideas 
uppermost in my mind, and still confined 
to the very recesses of my heart, I had 
been nursed into womanhood. I loved 
everybody, knew not of enemies, feared 
no one but God. My ideas and knowl- 
edge of a hereafter were restricted and 
limited to the information I had received 
from her. At that time it never occurred 
to me to think of the day when life would 
cease. I never plagued myself with 
thoughts respecting the nature of death. 
I was to do right and live a noble life, 
pure and unselfish. It was my duty.^' 




CHAPTER VI. 


Nel mezzo del camin di-nostra vita 
Mi ritrovia per una selva oscura 
U la diritta via 
Era smaritta.” 

My poor governess, the companion 
of my youth, my adviser and comforter, 
fell a prey to the ravaging Asiatic chol - 
era. At first nothing could console me, 
nothing relieve me. Then only when I 
stood at her bier, gazing upon the 
motionless face, the glassy eyes, did I 
realize that she was gone. And do you 
know, Slippysoff, even in death her face 
bore an expression of kindness. 

I mourned the loss — depriving myself 
of every contact with the world — finding 
solace in seclusion. And, after having 
resisted the first deep shock of sorrow, it 
gradually dawned upon me that I could 
best serve her memory by putting into 


58 


KING TOLSTOY'S SYMPHONY 


practice everything she had begged me 
to do. My sense of duty was to guide 
me through life. Was it not a violation 
of duty to live like a hermit? Yes, and 
therefore I decided to occasionally take 
little walks, to study and observe nature — 
life. I took these walks; but they all led 
me to her, to her last resting place.” 

Pontypoff was on the point of again 
breaking out in sobs, but she checked 
herself; paused, and said, suddenly: 

Now, I am to tell you, for I can no 
longer restrain myself, about the crisis, 
the acme, the climax of my life’s story. 
But, before I speak of it, I will mention 
an episode that took place before. A 
foreign prince, accompanied by his daugh- 
ter, paid a visit to Jusanoff Island. She 
was handsome and good. I had heard 
that King Tolstoy called several times to 
see her. Oh, Slippysoff, do not judge 
me if I tell you I became jealous. But 
only for a moment, and I don’t know if 
it was the same jealousy which I had been 


KING TOLSTOY^ S SYMPHONY 


59 


told about by my good preceptress. She 
had often explained to me the injustice 
done by jealous husbands or wives; she 
insisted that jealousy was prhna facie 
evidence of love; she extolled the exist- 
ence of jealousy as a feeling, in many 
cases, premature to devotional love, but 
always embodied with love; she believed 
that cases of established and chronic jeal- 
ousy existed in individuals who were un- 
conscious of it, and which, upon its mani- 
festation, was as quickly suppressed as it 
arose. Jealousy was never at the com- 
mand of one’s volition, and it generally 
presented itself without the least cause. 
She propounded these theories with such 
confidence and certainty, that I accepted 
them. But, when that feeling, ‘ that un- 
endurable burning,’ manifested itself in 
me, I questioned the correctness of her 
arguments. 

“ Did I still love Tolstoy? or was I 
vexed or hurt because he was lavishing 
his true love on some one who might be 


6o 


KING TOLSTOY^ S SYMPHONY 


deserving of it ? The Princess was hand- 
some, good. I was taught to love every- 
body, with the supposition that they were 
good. Why should I be affected with 
this peculiar nauseating feeling ? So 
argued I then, to-day I am as firm abeliever 
in the doctrines advocated by my dear 
Mademoiselle Bola-Constantino as ever. 
If he had been immaterial to me, if I had 
not cared for him, the green-eyed mons- 
ter would not have laid its clutches upon 
me. Ah ! jealousy is indeed a much 
misunderstood vice — if vice it can be 
called. It is certainly never prompted 
by bad motives or from wicked ideas. It 
takes deepest root in those that can 
love profoundly. It is a circumstantial 
evidence of true love. Although, Slippy- 
soff, what I am now going to tell you 
does not belong to this time, still it is 
very appropriate and necessary for you 
to know. 

“ Some years after this King Tolstoy 
and myself were engaged in discussing a 


KING TOLSTOY^ S SYMPHONY 


6i 


topic. To be brief it consisted of: Is jeal- 
ousy a factor in married life ? It was really 
not a discussion, for we both agreed, and 
that was the usual way with us. Never- 
theless, the outcome of this talk resulted 
in creating an endorsement of the theo- 
ries of my much beloved and departed 
mademoiselle. He claimed, and insisted, 
that jealousy never sprung from hatred, 
that with some it was deceptive; they be- 
lied themselves, imagined that they dis- 
liked or hated, and still felt jealous — in 
reality instead of disliking, they liked, per- 
haps were or were not aware of it; but 
they would not admit to themselves the ex- 
istence of this liking. At the same time, 
while jealousy never sprung from hatred, 
hatred very often sprung from jealousy — 
in fact, was more of a complication than 
a result. And the illusion is therefore 
difficult to perceive, because there is, of 
course, a moment when the hatred spring- 
ing from jealousy first shows itself. Now 
hatred, being a much stronger and more 


62 


KING TOLSTOY^ S SYMPHONY 


forcible vice, is apparently taken for the 
mother of jealousy, whilst really it is the 
infant. 

‘‘ But to return to my subject, I left off 
at the time when I perceived the first 
sign of jealousy. I have never since felt 
that feeling. I at once banished it from 
my system — for it was foreign to my 
character. I believed then, and I still 
cling to that belief, that jealousy, though 
it may be proof of love, is an irrational 
and an improper sympton. That it arises 
from the noblest and purest souls is cer- 
tain, but it is a failing which can, under 
aggravated circumstances, be contortioned 
into hatred, and hatred is an evil which 
no human should possess. Jealousy is a 
blemish to a perfect character. 

“King Tolstoy certainly gave me no 
cause for being jealous. During almost 
three months, the period immediately 
after the killing of Lord Dunlo, we saw 
each other but twice. Once he called, 
sent up his card, and, as I refused to see 


KING TOLSTOY^ S SYMPHONY 


63 


him, extended me a few words of consola- 
tion} at the loss of my dear friend by 
letter. The second time we met, or I 
should rather say the first time, because 
the other time he did not see me, 
although I saw him, I could not resist. 
It was not curiosity or inquisitiveness, 
but I felt my heart yearning to get a 
glimpse of his proud eyes. The other 
time I met him on the boulevard just as 
he was leaving the princess’ house. He 
told from his own accord that he had called 
on her, and asked me to do the same. 
I thanked him for his kindness, and bid 
him good-by. Oh! I can never forget 
how he looked at me ; how sadly his eyes 
would roam from one object to another. 

“ Strange, but I never thought a recon- 
ciliation between us possible, and with 
that idea I lived.” 

She now became silent, and several 
times, sighs, sounding like suppressed 
sobs, escaped her lips. After a few 
moments Pontypoff continued. 


CHAPTER VII. 

“ L’amour est un mal agi'eable, 

Dont mon coeur ne saurait guerir; 

Mais quand il serait guerissable, 

II est bien plus doux d’en mourir. ” 

' It was on a warm day, almost too 
warm to remain at home, that I de- 
cided to visit poor Mile. Bola’s grave. 
Why do I say poor? True, she has been 
deprived of life — the greatest blessing on 
earth — but has she not received more in 
exchange? Forgive me dear Slippysoff 
if I muse thus. I know it annoys you; 
but sometimes I can’t help it. I imagine 
I see her good, dear face peeping yonder 
out of the sky down upon me. Can’t 
you see it over there ? ” 

Saying this she pointed in the direc- 
tion where a great many small stars were 
congregated. 


64 


KING TOLSTOY^ S SYMPHONY 


65 


'‘Yes, dear, that is the Milky Way,” 
replied Slippysoff. 

" Oh, how beautiful that zone of blended 
stars is ! How pure ! How chaste ! ” 

All was now still save the flapping of 
albatross wings and the splashing of por- 
poise fins. The moon was high up in 
the heavens throwing a streak of light on 
the forecastle head. In the glimmer of 
this darkness the form of a slight woman, 
walking to fro on the deck, aft, was bare- 
ly visible. It was Pontypoff. Once or 
twice more she paced up and down, then 
she resumed her seat and continued : 

“Whilst I was engaged in devout 
prayer, kneeling on the stone step lead- 
ing to Aer tomb, I heard faint and distant 
footsteps. As the sound grated on my 
ears, the thought that I was familiar with 
them flashed through my brain. My 
prayer *was finished. I arose. Five min- 
utes elapsed, and then he stood before 
me. In his right hand he carried a small 
bunch of violets. They were loose, and 

King Tolstoy’s Symphony 5 


66 


KING TOLSTOY^ S SYMPHONY 


the arrangement and appearance of them 
showed that they had been plucked by 
him. He handed them to me. At first 
I hesitated ; should I accept them ? I 
stretched out my hand to grasp them. 
My fingers touched his. I lifted my eyes 
to see him, when I for the first time 
noticed a deep scar on his forehead. A 
chill ran through me, and I almost 
dropped the flowers. That scar at once 
brought me back to the most miserable 
point of my life, and, although I used 
every effort to hide my feelings, I felt 
myself getting pale. 

“ ' Pontypoff,’ he said, at the same time 
handing me a beautiful scarf' pin with a 
Janus head, ‘fasten those violets to your 
dress; they will look so prettily.’ Mutely 
I obeyed. I pinned them close to my 
neck, and I remember how I kissed those 
withered flowers that evening. . Ever 
since that day violets are my favorite 
flowers. Slippysoff, would you believe 
that my entire story is virtually based 


KING TOLSTOY'S SYMPHONY 


67 


upon my acceptance of those violets? I 
do not remember distinctly how I felt 
when he offered them to me; it was so 
unexpected, and I was so little prepared 
for an attention from him. But I do 
remember that I was unconsciously 
drawn to receive whatever he said that 
day with favor and pleasure. 

‘‘ Without saying’ another word he 
seated himself next to me, although at 
some distance. I labored hard with my- 
self to open the conversation, but I could 
find no words to speak, knew of no topic 
to speak about. And, even if I had 
wished to speak, I doubt whether my 
lips could have articulated a sound. 
After some moments of silence, he said, 
‘ Pontypoff, do you remember that you 
once promised to be my friend ? Are 
you — ’ I did not allow him to finish 
the sentence. I felt the reproach. The 
words smarted me, and my heart hissed 
like a hot iron when plunged into water. 
I stretched out my hand, laid it into his 


68 


KING TOLSTOY^ S SYMPHONY 


and said, ‘I am your friend now and for- 
ever, but what care you for my friend- 
ship ? ’ Oh, how that hurt him ; he bit 
his lip in pain, and earnestly begged me, 
implored me, never again to say that. ' If 
I were not seeking your friendship, if it 
were not necessary to the prolongation of 
my existence, would I have wandered to 
this desolate spot and disturbed you in 
your worship ? You are the sunshine of 
my life, the only ray that lights my dark 
path ! I have suffered much — I do not 
say so to reproach you, on the contrary, 
it has made me a better and nobler man ; 
it has made me love you better ! Oh, 
Pontypoff, can you doubt my sincerity ? 
If my lips were saying a falsehood, would 
not my eyes betray me ? Oh, if you 
could but see my heart you would believe 
me, you would know that I love you in- 
tensely ! ’ I had long felt that I loved 
him, but I never knew I loved him so 
much. We sat there for a long while, 
and never for a moment did he release 


KING TOLSTOY^ S SYMPHONY 


my hand from his manly grasp. We 
spoke a great deal. Hundreds of differ- 
ent subjects were discussed — there was 
no want of matter. And so it used to 
be every time we met. In fact, every 
time I left him I thought of several 
themes which I had been anxious to dis- 
cuss, but which, in the heat of conversa- 
tion, had been omitted. He complained 
of the same. Slippysoff, would you like 
to hear what we talked about that day ? ” 

‘‘Yes, it would interest me very much.” 

“After we had spoken of various 
things, I asked him, couching my ques- 
tion in as tender and inoffensive terms as 
possible, how he had received that scar ? 
I could see what a battle took place in 
him, and how fiercely the warring ele- 
ments raged. As an answer he pulled 
from a portfolio a visiting card. That 
was the card he had received from Lord 
Dunlo challenging him to a duel. Ac- 
cording to the code that was a sufficient 
challenge, I understand. Seeing how re- 


70 


Kim TOLSTOY'S SYMPHONY 


pulsive the allusion to this had been, I did 
not press him with any further queries. 
But he told me from his own accord how 
painful the wound had been, and from 
this the conversation drifted to doctors. 

“ He spoke very highly of the medical 
profession, terming it a noble, self sacri- 
ficing vocation, and one that brings 
you nearer to the goal of eternity than 
any other calling which could be followed. 
He compared them favorably, even with 
the interpreters of God’s laws. He said 
the ones minister to the psychical wants, 
the others to physical, and as the soul 
cannot exist without the body in this 
creation, the doctor is logically, also min- 
istering to the soul. He again quoted, 

* Mens Sana in corpore sano\ and there- 
fore he believed that physicists played 
even a more important role than priests. 
He said: ‘ In this age, they have become an 
heroic necessity, and they practice accord- 
ing to the fundamental principles of 
nature, therefore, can ,do no harm.' I 


ICING TOLSTOY^S SYMPliONV 


1 ^ 


remember him saying, that there were 
some few that did not, and he called those 
quacks. The subject would not have 
interested me very much, had it not been 
for the discussion that arose when poor 
Mademoiselle died. The attending prac- 
titioner called it an isolated case of Asiatic 
cholera. I could never, and do not to- 
day, understand how such an epidemic, 
which has been a dread for ages, could 
attack one person, and then, so to say, be 
aborted in its ravage. I asked the king 
how that was? He explained something 
about a germ theory, or bacteriology, 
but I failed to comprehend the exact idea. 
He spoke very highly of antiseptics, and 
disinfectants, but he said, the greatest 
aid that a physician can receive, is the 
patient’s implicit trust and faith, rested 
and placed in him. He told me of 
several cases where (supposed) hydro- 
phobia had been cured, because the pro- 
fessors induced the patients to believe 


72 


KING TOLSTOY^ S SYMPHONY 


that the dog that had bitten them was 
still living, and not mad. 

“ Whenever we had for any length of 
time spoken on a scientific topic he 
would at once go over to some subject 
that interested me more. He related to 
me about his visits to the princess, and 
of some of her peculiar views. One 
was : she believed that children’s love for 
their parents was deeper and better than 
even a mother’s love for her child, and 
another was that the mother’s love for a 
child individually decreased in exact pro- 
portion with the increase in the family 
and its increase in age. Well, we spoke 
about both those.” 

Here she again paused a little, evidently 
gasping for breath ; she had been talking 
very steadily for the last half hour and 
now felt the effects of over-exertion. 

“Oh, Slippysoff, the king has a stout 
heart; his is a nature that possesses 
latent heat — he never chills — no, never, 
not if he came in contact with an iceberg 


KING TOLS TO Y^S SYMPHONY 


73 


— he would infuse warmth into the 
coldest, and gradually elevate it close to 
his standard of warmth. He had re- 
united in him, truth, honor and sincerity. 
Why should I not love him ? so thought 
I, but still notwithstanding all his admir- 
able qualities I could not love him as I 
had once done many years ago. Will I 
ever be able to love him thus ? And why 
cannot I ? 

These questions have for years given 
me sore trials — many sleepless nights. 
But to return to my story. He scorned, 
laughed, ridiculed the princess’ ideas. 
He scoffed at them. No love is as 
true and unselfish as a mother’s love, 
especially towards infants. She receives 
and can expect nothing in return but 
care and trouble. ' She nurses them 
day and night, even when yet so tired 
she sacrifices her sleep to them. Mo- 
ther’s love is true love. The father may 
love with the same intensity and fervor, 
but it is at all times a shade lighter. 


74 


KING TOLSTOY^S SYMPHONY 


And as for mothers loving the children 
less as they grow older, that, he said, is 
also an absurd idea. Their love remains 
the same, but the evidence is not so ap- 
parent, the demonstration of it is less 
perceptible — and so in the case where 
the family is increased — the mother s love 
for the one remains as strong, firm and 
true as before, but she is in duty bound 
to bestow it on all in the same degree, 
therefore, each shares with his brothers 
or sisters some proportion of the whole. 

We sat together talking until the sun 
had gone down. Dusk was fast approach- 
ing. On our way home, we again vowed 
each other eternal friendship, which, he 
said, he hoped would some day mature 
into love. I felt that he thought his was 
over-ripe, but he did not at all allude to 
himself. He escorted me home, and, at 
the door, bidding me good-night, he said: 
‘Violet, be my friend!’ Yes, Tolstoy, 
and also I am now in need of a friend 
more than ever.” 


KING TOLSTOY SYMPHONY 


75 


Just then she looked up to see the last 
spark of a falling- star. Pontypoff now 
buried her head deeply into her hands 
apparently engaged in prayer. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

“ She lay upon the dark and lonely deck, 

And sighed for sleep, for sleep that would not hear 
But left her tossing still; for night and day 
A mighty hunger yearned within her heart, 

’Till all her veins ran fever, and her cheek, 

Her long, thin hands and emaciated arms, 

Were wasted with the wasting of her soul.” 

A HALF an hour had almost elapsed 
before Pontypoff awakened out of her 
dream. 

“Where am I? Who is here ? Oh, 
is it you, Slippysoff?” such were the 
questions that she put in a ghost-like tone 
to her companion. 

“You have been telling me the story 
of your life,” replied Slippysoff. 

“ Ah, but I have not yet told you of 
the ‘ Rhapsodie Hongroise ’ ? No; then I 
have not yet come to the climax of my 
life — for that is the climax.'^ 


76 


KING TOLSTOY^S SYMPHONY 


77 


‘'No, you left off after you and King- 
Tolstoy had become reconciled ! 

“Oh, yes; I now remember I told you 
about our first meeting — have you ever 
been separated from one you loved 
dearly — dearer than yourself? About 
a week after our meeting in the cemetery 
King Tolstoy called at my house and 
asked me to take a drive with him. He 
was out with his royal livery — four 
horses, a coachman and a footman. I ac- 
cepted. We had a very delightful drive. 
Oh, the king was so attentive, so arhiable, 
so kind. I was constantly getting deeper 
into the meshes. I could no longer re- 
strain myself. I could not — I was in 
love — and what is love — love is simply 
the need that souls have for each other. 
Human love is analogous to the tendency 
or affinity of all elementary movement and 
circulation. It is a yearning, a pressing, 
a drawing from soul to soul — heart to 
heart. 

“Yes, Slippysoff, love is but a link of 


KING TOLSTOY'S SYMPHONY 


life ; the firmer and closer these links are 
riveted together, just so much happier 
will life be Life is but a fragment with- 
out love. With reciprocated love it be- 
comes the life — the life which has been 
sung about by all poets.” 

“ You are right! ” suddenly interrupted 
Slippysoff, ‘'but still we require a belief, 
faith, before we can become happy!” 

“The only hope that will at times 
stimulate us in our desire to live, is the 
hope of again living in some brighter 
planet! ” 

“ Pontypoff, I have listened to you at- 
tentively. I agree with you on a great 
many subjects, but I believe there are 
unhappy marriages based on true love.” 

“No, dear, it is a misconception. If a 
marriage is contracted by two who feel 
that there is no bond on earth so sacred, 
so tender, so holy, and so sublime, then 
their hearts and souls fit like gearwheels. 
And the reason therefor is because both 
are extremely happy; it is the same hap- 


KING TOLS TOY'S S YMPHON Y 


79 


piness produced by the same thoughts. 
Think, Slippysoff, if the whole world were 
to slander, scorn, and detest you, if all 
the rest but one were to hound you, and 
that one would cling to you, would never 
wrong you in word or in deed, would share 
with you pleasure and sorrow, poverty 
and riches, would yield ' and sacrifice 
everything for your sake, then you could 
not help but bestow your true, sincere, 
unselfish love in return upon him; you 
would press his head to your breast, 
caress and kiss him, you could never 
bear the idea of being separated from 
him except by the inevitable death, you 
would always have a smile, and a laugh, 
and a kiss for him; you would dry his 
tears if he had any, in fact, you would 
sacrifice your all for him just as he has 
sacrificed his for you. You would be 
happy.” 

“But, does that ever happen? Can 
human beings be so happy?” 

“Yes; that is the love which God 


8o 


KING TOLSTOY^ S SYMPHONY 


showers upon his subjects. It is similar 
to the love for your fellow man or 
woman, to the love for your friend, the* 
love for your parents; it is similar to the 
love for him. The similarity between is 
great; they are all alike except in the 
direction in which they are spent — the 
intensity and fervor remains the same. 
If I had ever loved my parents, I would 
have loved him with the same fervor and 
sincerity as he loved me; but I had 
never loved before, neither friend nor 
fellow-being, nor mother nor father.” 

Again she paused, then continued: 

Odd, but my mind is always at a 
standstill when my body is in motion; 
so it was that day when I was driving 
out. And whenever he would want to 
draw me out on some topic I would 
hardly give an intelligible monosyllabic 
answer. We spoke that day a great deal 
of the future, and he would again and 
more seriously have pressed his suit and 
asked me for my hand and heart had it not 


KING TOLSTOY^ S SYMPHONY 


8l 


been for this apparent distant retiredness, 
due to the influence of locomotion on my 
brain. I said a few words in a satirical 
tone about the perfection of men. From 
that he launched out into a discussion 
between the relative merits of man and 
woman. This was a very interesting 
debate, and threw us into great merri- 
ment. I advocated that man was not 
only to be the support, but also the edu- 
cator and nurse. Well, he said he was 
willing to play nurse, but he would object 
to wearing lace caps. The afternoon 
passed very quickly. Oh, how intensely 
I was falling in love with him, and still I 
could not have been his wife. 

In speaking about men and women, 
we spoke of what led mostly to quarrels, 
and who was generally responsible. We 
did not agree, and for the first time in 
our entire acquaintance. He accused 
women of being inquisitive and over sen- 
sitive. I did not so much defend women 
as attack the men. I said men had devils’ 

King Tolstoy’s Symphony 6 


82 


KING TOLSTOY'S SYMPHONY 


tempers; had unaccountable humors, fol- 
lowed by irritability; and that, Avorst of 
all, they were easily contaminated, se- 
duced to the bad, and were adepts in the 
cultivation and industry of accumulating 
yeast to the brewer. As I said before, 
we had a very enjoyable afternoon, and 
I felt very sorry when he left. 

“When I was alone in my room, my 
heart beat very loud, and I felt sick. Oh, 
heart disease is an awful complaint. 
Why did he not bring me a flower.^ Has 
his love decreased? Is it perpetual love? 
Can I risk? Such were the questions 
which I, one by one, disposed of satisfac- 
torily, and still I could and would not con- 
sent to be his wife. 

“ Slippysoff, has the climax of my life 
been told to you ? No, but I will soon 
be far enough advanced to say it. Oh, 
there is a great deal of darkness in that 
cloud rising yonder; just so with my life’s 
story, before the storm — before the 
climax. 


KING TOLSTOY'S SYMPHONY 


“ Just before he left the carriage, he told 
me that his brother-in-law, a widower, 
would be publicly married to Princess 
Dudidoff This news did not at all as- 
tonish me, for I had heard that she came 
to Jusanoff Island because she was already 
in love with the king’s brother-in-law. 

“Oh, Slippysoff!” she cried out, in 
great alarm, “look at that cloud — it is a 
hurricane, a cyclone cloud.” 

The next moment the cry was heard. 
All hands about ship ! All canvas in — ” 
then the unwilling reply — “Bye-bye, 
miss.” 




CHAPTER IX. 


“ Something the heart must have to cherish, 

Must love and joy and sorrow learn, 

Something with passion clasp or perish, 

And in itself to ashes burn. ” 

“That dark cloud of sorrow” was 
lowering-; it had almost touched the 
water’s edge. Suddenly it was as light as 
day, then night — then a shot was heard 
like the detonation of nitro-glycerine. On 
the deck still sat Pontypoff with her head 
deeply buried in her knees — the air was 
charged with electricity — the moon was 
covered . 

A fay-like voice almost inaudibly mut- 
tered: 

“ We’ll stand the storm, 

It won’t be long, 

We’ll anchor by and by.” 

Presently the cry of “All is well ” is 
heard, and the sky is again clearer — the 

84 


KING TOLSTOY^ S SYMPHONY 


moon is now perceptible — the poop is 
again the scene of action, the coiling of 
ropes, the squirming of the cable going 
about the capstan. Then sounds the cry 
of “Belay!” — capstan bars are noise- 
lessly put away. The crowd is once 
more reduced to two. 

Unstained by sincur — 

She is too pure to stay 
’Midst the world’s noise and din; 

She’ll soon pass away. 

Pontypoff slowly raised her counte- 
nance which had undergone a remarkable 
transformation — her face was colorless; 
her .lips blue; her teeth dark; in fact she 
looked, for the moment, hideous. As 
quick as a flash she was again trans- 
formed — her eyes possessed luster and 
brightness, her mouth was round and 
moist, as she said to Slippysoff— 

“ How many fathoms are we drawing ? 
Are we any nearer the coast ?” 

“ The wind is right on our bow, we 


86 


KING TOLSTOY'S SYMPHONY 


are steering- Nor-nor-east; five points off 
our course/' 

“ Oh ! by to-morrow night I will be safe 
and well in the harbor of Jusanoff — in 
the arms of the king. Oh no, how can 
I ? Does he still love as fervently, as 
sincerely, as he did fifteen years ago? Is 
my love worthy of his ? Even were it 
not, I have his promise. How many 
years since I last was in these waters ? Is 
it not almost five years? Oh, no, 
Pontypoff, why it is not a month; soon 
the snow will cover the ground, cover 
the graves. Oh my poor Mile. Bola — 
how many winters have you rested whilst 
I have suffered? Little did we think that 
I should ever bewail my misery, but there 
are some sufferings too heavy for the heart 
to bear alone. Alone. Alone, did I say, 
ah, yes, alone — through my own choice, 
and if I had happened to empty my heart 
into another, into a warm receptacle, it 
might have frozen its benefactor; it might 
have been suddenly thrown back on its 


KING TOLSTOY K SYMPHONY 


warm bedding, and I would have dis- 
covered that I had been jilted.” 

In this manner she raved, occasionally- 
crying aloud for several minutes, then she 
would gradually tone down until she be- 
came totally mute. Now she resumed: 

“ And now I am to tell you about the 
climax of my life. Strange, isn’t it? 
Strange that a climax, be it of whatever 
it may, is always nearer the end than the 
beginning. But my climax was due to a 
particularly peculiar feature — it would 
not have happened, and I dare say other 
things would not have happened, if it had 
not been for one distressing episode. 
The day before the final wedding festivi- 
ties of the king’s brother-in-law, a small 
fishing smack ran ashore on the west 
coast of the little island. This was an 
extremely treacherous place, and the 
occupant of the boat, not knowing this, 
stepped on to the ground to push the boat 
off the land. As soon as his foot rested 
upon terra Jirma he disappeared, and 


88 


KING TOLSTOY^ S SYMPHONY 


was never heard of since. Oh, the watery 
grave. And, still, why should we have 
a repugnance to being buried at sea? 
True, there are no tombstones, no peren- 
nial plants — there are sharks. I, for 
myself, do not care. The king wishes to 
be interred next to me. Next to me? 
And if I should perish at sea, how could 
it be done? Oh! that will not happen; 
we are only twenty-four hours from land. 
Why, the Polner mountain, even in the 
darkness, is perceptible with the naked 
eye. 



CHAPTER X. 


“ O, tell her brief is life, but love is long, 

There’s somewhat flows to us in life 
But more is taken quite away, 

And tell her, tell her what I tell to thee. ” 

“It was a beautiful July morning,” 
now continued Pontypoff. “The king’s 
brother-in-law was to be married, and 
they were to give a garden party. 
Everything looked serene and bright; 
the to.wn hall and large shops were 
decorated, flags were flying in all direc- 
tion in honor of him and her. Merri- 
ment, pleasure and enjoyment was float- 
ing in the air; the door of one little house 
was also decorated. Yesterday the 
father, the husband and the boy had 
gone to sea — gone to sea. Three 
species of love were at once carried 
away — the love of a father, wife and 
child — oh, how terrible. Is he who has 

89 


90 


KING TOLSTOY^ S SYMPHONY 


never had occasion to love not happier 
than he who has loved with sorrow ? 
Now listen, Slippy soff, to the end, for 
the climax is at hand. 

“At seven o’clock the king called for 
me. I was awaiting him, and without 
detaining him for one moment we left. 
He was exceedingly pleasant; a large 
bouquet of hot-house violets was worn 
by me as corsage; a like button-hole 
bouquet ornamented him. He was 
exceedingly attentive — nothing could 
escape his eyes — he constantly fanned 
me, at the same time pouring sweet 
words of love into my ears. The cere- 
mony was over — supper was served — I 
ate very heartily. While the king was 
sipping his cafe ati lait, a large bonboniere 
filled with marrons glace's, was presented 
to me with his card. On the blank side 
was the following writing: 

‘ I have been wild and wayward, but you’ll forgive me now. 

‘ Y our own, 

‘Tolstoy, Rex.’ 


KING TOLSTOY'S SYMPHONY 


91 


Of course we laughed about the joke, 
and the poor application and misappro- 
priation of Tennyson’s beautiful verse. 
It was now a few minutes of nine o’clock. 
The lanterns, some of which consisted of 
gorgeous colors and shapes, were being 
hung up. The king and myself were all 
alone. Clothed in the most beautiful 
language, and with such earnest sincerity, 
he asked for my hand and heart. I was 
wavering, and if I had said yes, I 
would not have been able to keep it; 
rather death than dishonor, rather moral 
death, rather a perjurer, than to marry a 
man one does not love. I asked him to 
allow me a few moments’ time. He 
implored for a favorable answer; he loved 
me — oh, I knew it — he still loves me; but 
how could I, when I was not worthy of 
him. The concert was to start at nine 
o’clock, the programmes were just being 
handed around. 

“The first and second pieces were very 
pretty potpourris out of leading comic 


92 


KING TOLSTOY^ S SYMPHONY 


Operas, the third was a march. Oh! if 
I had only then marched out! I might 
to-day have been saved. Oh, Slippysoff, 
I loved him dearly, just like on that day 
twenty years ago; oh, I love him now — 
but is it not too late? Yes, the third 
piece had been played. The fourth was 
announced on the programme as ‘ King 
Tolstoy’s Symphony,’ a dedication played 
by the composer, Traconi. Several mo- 
ments elapsed. ‘Traconi?’ I said to him — 
‘ Why that is the man who was drowned! ’ 
‘You are right, Violet! But what can 
we do? Can’t you play something?’ 
‘No, dear,’ I said to him; ‘I have not 
played a note, not even opened the piano 
since my good Mademoiselle s demise.' 
Everybody is still waiting — suddenly 
he arose, straightened his neck-tie and 
away on to the stage. 

“ Oh, Slippysoff, you have no idea 
what applause greeted him. He walked 
up to the small platform, bowed, and then 
informed them of the sad accident that 


KING TOLSTOY'S SYMPHONY 


93 


had befallen the composer of ‘ King Tol- 
stoy’s Symphony,’ and said that he re- 
gretted not being able to hear it played 
by its master’s hand. He then coughed, 
and went on saying, ‘ with the forbear- 
ance and indulgence of the audience I 
will attempt to play it.’ Oh, believe me, 
Slippysoff, I was just on the point of say- 
ing in deference, in respect to the de- 
parted, the festivities should be adjourned 
sine die. And why did I not ? If I had, 
what happened would not have hap- 
pened. But I did not, because I loved to 
hear him play. Oh, how it pleased me 
that he had the courage, for although he 
was a fine player, he was only an ama- 
teur. But I had not heard him since 
several years, and I, therefore, was doubly 
anxious to hear him perform. Whilst all 
these thoughts were entering in and out 
of my brain he had mounted the stage 
and was looking for the scores — the 
notes. After several moments of con- 
scientious searching he excused himself. 


94 


KING TOLSTOY^ S SYMPHONY 


saying that he had another disappoint- 
ment in store for the audience, as he 
could not find the music. 

I again could hardly restrain myself 
from saying: ‘ Then I move that he play 
something else.’ But I did not. Why I 
did not, I don’t know; I did not then. 
He had already made a short bow, ready 
to leave the stage, when another idea 
took hold of him. The audience had 
shown their marked dissatisfaction in ap - 
plauding, in calling Bravo, Bis Encore. 
A general riot ensued. But it was rap- 
idly quelched, and without the aid of 
police intervention, although the disturb- 
ers of the peace had been spotted by him. 
He may have suspected me, for he looked 
long in the direction where I was sitting. 
Without saying a word he seated him- 
self in his easy, natural and becoming 
style on a piano stool that had long been 
idle, and with an artistic touch and mas- 
terly execution played what sounded to 
be an easy but which in reality was a difh- 


KING TOLSTOY'S SYMPHONY 


95 


cult piece. It was the Rhapsodie Hon- 
groisCy by Franz Liszt. Have you ever 
heard it, Slippysoff ” 

‘^No.” 

“ Oh, it is a most beautiful theme, and 
how he played it. He lived with the 
composer. Liszt himself could nof have 
played it with more feeling, more earnest- 
ness. It starts off with a /e/iR a capriccio. 
This, at once, initiates one into the secret 
passion — he betrays his intention. Then 
comes that majestic, towering Lass an. 
Oh, the tempo is the andante — it is the 
wavering, and still determined andante 
cu7n -motto expressione. Oh! it has a 
wonderful impression on a susceptible 
soul — it imbues it with affection — it 
stirs it into action — it elevates and en- 
nobles it. Ah! and those runs, those 
soft, graceful, florid runs, executed with 
expression and sentiment. It rises and 
falls, first like the rushing of a waterfall, 
then diminishes to the distant fall of a 
geyser, always growing fainter, now and 


96 


KING TOLSTOY'S SYMPHONY 


then with a fff. Ah! what is music? 
It is the very speaking of the soul, im- 
bued with life; it quivers, it trembles, 
then comes another tempOy the friska, a 
lively, regular, and low vivace, gradually 
growing quicker, little by little; it is life 
— life* of the soul. Then the giusto 
vivace. Oh! that is marvelous, ex- 
quisite. Those who have heard can never 
forget its gladdening effect; it has no 
reflex action, cannot call forth retroflec- 
tioh; its scherzando and leggierissimo is 
pleasing, highly gratifying; it does not in- 
veigle thoughts of past agonies into one’s 
heart, it does not remind of pain, care, and 
trouble; it is leger, frivolous, budding; 
now we hear the piu mosso, it increases 
in speed; its tone becomes still richer, 
more abundant — it is still rising in 
intensity it wanders up the scale, it 

reaches the D . The stringendo con 

strepito is the coil that is winding into a 
knot, and so it continues; from the tutta 
forza it descends, diminishes — now the 


KING TOLSTOY^ S SYMPHONY 


97 


mellifluous staccato, and toward the close 
of the tempo the cadenzas — oh, his exe- 
cution was artistic; they are to be played 
ad libitum, and how he played them. 
The tempo is closed. The last is the 
poco meno mosso e marcato; it has but a 
short, active life; it abounds in harmony; 
it creates enthusiasm. Everybody is 
on his feet ; their ears are dilated so that 
the auditorius meatus externus acts like 
the receiver of a telephone; it catches 
every iota of sound. The sound waves 
no longer vibrate singly; they are inter- 
mingled — flowing, rolling without meet- 
ing obstruction — the vibrations are in- 
creased; the rapido prestissimo is now 
only a prestissimo ; the music is ravish- 
ing, it grows fainter and weaker; a few 
more measures, a few notes, no final ac- 
cord, it is over; the sound waves are still 
traveling, but the tide has changed — it 
is now flowing in — stamping of the feet, 
clapping of the hands, bravissimos and 
da capos rent the air. 

King Tolstoy’s Symphony 7 


98 


KING TOLSTOY^S SYMPHONY 


“ Oh, music has a striking effect upon 
heart and soul. The grandeur of har- 
mony cannot be encompassed — it revolts, 
struggles. Slippysoff, I have often 
thought over the effect music has upon 
me. But no piece has ever made one- 
tenth the impression upon me than his 
rendering of the ‘ Rhapsodie Hongroise.’ 
I fairly swooned; I fainted. I knew not 
whether I was standing or sitting. I felt 
the music in me. Oh, it was like imbib- 
ing ambrosius and nectar. 

Music is like love; it resembles love 
in all its characteristics. First, the ac- 
quaintance, the lento a capriccio; then 
the friendship, the andante; getting 
closer befriended, more intimate, the 
andante molto expressivo ; first love dec- 
laration, the fiery passion, the vivace; 
a rebuke, the giusto vivace; love will 
out, it cannot be extirpated, it exists, the 
piii mosso; it must subject, subdue, it 
increases in force, vigor, the tutta forza; 
hen the triumph, victory, the staccato; 


KING TOLSTOY^ S SYMPHONY 


99 


happiness and devotion, ease and peace, 
the cadenza ad libitum. 

‘‘ Oh, will my love end thus ? I doubt 
it. It 'may be too late. On some, music 
acts as intoxicant; on some, like sad 
news; but it imbues me to nobler ideas, 
purer motives. Under its tender stimulus 
I can endure hard ordeals. There are 
certain vague theories afloat regarding 
the transmigration of the auditor’s soul 
into the same sphere and era as that of 
the composer; these theories are mostly 
negative and illogical. Society yields, 
year in, year out, some musical maniacs, 
but the supposition is fairly tenable that 
they were moonstruck or a little tainted in 
mind before the influence was brought to 
bear upon them. What effect has music 
upon you?” asked Pontypoff. 

Slippysoff had closed her eyes; she 
now quickly opened them as she replied: 

'' It irritates me, transmutates me into 
a different subject; but I still enjoy it. I 
love it; but I find it indigestible, it does 


lOO 


KING rOLSTOY^S SYMPHONY 


not agree with me, especially if I indulge 
too freely.” 

“That is very strange. But to return 
to my story; I was completely overawed, 
specially by his wonderful betrayal of 
innate talent — oh, yes, where there is 
warmth and passion, there must be fire, 
and fire burns. His playing was the 
smoke — the evidence of fire — it warmed 
me! There were several very pretty 
things played after his. One was the 
slumber song from the opera. La niuetta 
di Portici — oh, that is so pretty — it is 
not grand or august, it is rather petite, 
but it actually makes one yawn and feel 
sleepy. Of course I do not contend that 
the composer, when he wrote that, felt in 
a sleepy mood, or that his soul felt sleep. 
Not at all, it is a creation of the mind; 
the composer intended to write a song 
that would have the effect of putting the 
listeners to sleep. 

“Yes, the intonation and the markato 
of the slumber song were splendid, but 


KING TOLSTOY^ S SYMPHONY 


lOI 


he played to an empty house, for even if 
some of the benches were occupied they 
were empty for him, because they did 
not listen; they were loudly talking- and 
arguing- about the grandeur of the king’s 
play. The last piece was a selection 
from II Trovatore. The closing duo 
In nostri monti, etc., sung by Asuzena 
and the duke. Of course, here again the 
music is lovely, and it all lies in the ar- 
rangement of force and time. But the 
tempo is in music what ryhme is in poetry, 
the time is like the ryhme. 

“ He returned to me as unimposing 
and insignificantly as when he left, and 
still he had met with unprecedented suc- 
cess at his debut. He had received sev- 
eral tokens of appreciation, among them 
being a beautiful bouquet of Marechal 
Niel roses from the new sister-in-law of 
the king. He, himself, saw no one but 
me. All this success only tended to in- 
crease his ardor. He again implored me 
for an answer. I was still in the delirium 


102 


KING TOLSTOY^ S SYMPHONY 


of the Rhapsodie. I stuttered, I stam- 
mered — at last I could induce my vocal 
chords to vibrate a nervous tremor. I 
said : 

“ ‘Tolstoy, I can never be your wife, 
for I am not worthy of your affection. I 
can love, can love truly, but your love 
needs the reciprocation of a desperate 
love, a love beyond even the taint, even 
the breath of an insinuation against a 
failing. I can not be otherwise but your 
friend forever and ever. I love you, love 
you to distraction. You would make me 
the happiest of mortals on earth.’ That 
was the last word I said. I still remem- 
ber it. The king did not answer. His 
face did not change color. He stood 
motionless, speechless.” 




CHAPTER XL 

“ I love thee to the depth, and breadth, and height, 

My soul can reach. How do I love thee ? 

I love thee with a love, I seemed to lose 
With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath, 

Smiles, tears, of all my life — and if God choose 
I shall but love thee better after death. ” 

“You have heard about the crisis of 
my life. I refused his wooing — alea 
jacta est. Will I pass this rubicon, or 
will I meet him yonder, whence that star 
is so mischievously winking at me. Ah ! 
you rogue ! I do not want to join hands 
with you, you are in league with the man 
with the cloven foot. Ha ! ha ! once 
more the sun will set, and then we will 
be riding anchor in the harbor of Jusan- 
off. But it often happens that when we 
offer our hearts to others, or if we make 
some heroic sacrifice, and stoically bear 
the pain — we are filled with disgust, not 
only for the individual, but for the whole 

103 


104 


KING TOLSTOY'S SYMPHONY 


world. We are misunderstood, our 
efforts are not appreciated. 

“Was not the king sacrificing himself ? 
May be he considers me prudish ! Is 
there an unconscious estrangement 
between us? Oh, no; why I shall be 
hanging on his neck to-morrow. But I 
am again straying from my story. I 
remember telling you the answer I gave 
him to his proposal. It seems I fainted 
then and was taken home, or, whether I 
was resuscitated before being taken 
home I do not know, for I was uncon- 
scious. The following morning I had a 
very severe headache, and pains along 
my spine. Perhaps I injured myself in 
falling ! I was not determined what to 
do, as I did not know whether the king 
and I would be enemies for life, or what 
would take place. Oh, that was a miser- 
able, uncertain day. Toward evening I 
rose and sat in an easy chair at the win- 
dow. Who should pass on horseback 
but the king. At first I did not recognize 


KING TOLSTOY^ S SYMPHONY 


105 


him, he stared at me as if he thought I 
did not catch his eye. I bowed, he salut- 
ed. I made a motion, he answered, he 
came. 

^‘The first word he said was: 

“ ‘ Violet, my love, are you rested; did 
you pass a good night? ’ I told him 
about my headache, and that I feared I 
had fallen. He smiled, and informed me 
that I had fallen into strong arms. I dis- 
liked theddea of him holding me while I 
was unconscious, as long as he dared not 
hold me now. He again argued and re- 
argued the case, but in vain. He assured 
me that I overrated him, that he was no 
genius, that thousands could play better 
than he. Better, yes; but not with so 
much sympathy, so much sentiment. If 
I married him, it would be for his heart’s 
sake, not for the agility of his fingers. 

“ His parting was: ‘ Well then, Violet, 
my child, be my sincere friend. Some 
day you will learn to love me.’ I an- 
swered not. As the door closed on its 


i06 itiNG TOLSTOY^ S SYMPHOMY 


hinges behind him, I felt a peculiar, ting- 
ling sensation between my shoulder 
blades. I did not consider it anything 
serious, therefore did not take any un- 
usual precautions to prevent its further 
spreading, if it were a disease. I retired 
earlier. 

It is still so clearly before my mind 
as if it had happened yesterday. As in- 
distinct and dull as recollections of dreams 
generally are, this one, which I dreamt 
that night, I can relate to you as truth- 
fully and as vividly as when it happened.” 

“Oh! Pontypoff, I am so fond of 
telling the meaning of dreams, do tell me 
that one, and I will tell you what is to 
befall you.” 

Pontypoff merely shrugged her shoul- 
ders. Her lips were mute, her eyes 
glowed with that demon-like flare, and 
her lips became purple as she incoher- 
ently stammered, raising the forefinger 
of her right hand as high as she could: 

“ Yon — yon — er — star is my guide, I 


KING TOLSTOY^ S SYMPHONY 


107 


follow it wherever it goeth, and, when it 
disappears from the horizon, then also 
my time is fast drawing to an end.” 

Pontypoff, for God’s sake, do not be- 
come delirous; brace up.” 

A nervous tremor now shook her sys- 
tem. Her head was quickly snapped 
backward. Her tongue extended far out 
of her mouth. Slippysoff sat mutely 
watching her in her paroxysms of loco- 
motor ataxia. After some time her feat- 
ures returned to their normal condition. 
Her tongue was again drawn in. The 
muscles of the neck relaxed. 

“Yes, Slippysoff, I will tell you my 
dream. I was in a foreign land, where 
the trees were hung with golden fruits, 
the rivers lined with silvery banks. No 
friend or acquaintance was at my side. 
I was suddenly stricken with paralysis. 
My limbs were lifeless, my senses in a 
coma. All the native herb doctors were 
unable to improve my condition. I lay 
for days, for nights, waiting for death to 


io8 


KING TOLSTOY^ S SYMPHONY 


relieve me. Circulation in me had al- 
most stopped, respiration was stertorous, 
and only my heart’s beat broke the 
rythm of monotony, as I was approaching 
the last stage of dissolution. I had an 

omen, a foreboding . He could save 

me. Oh! why don’t you come? my lips 
articulated without producing a sound. 
Do, oh, do, save me. Then I remained 
unconscious for some time until a terrific 
noise, coupled with blows and struggling, 
awoke me. It was he. He had come to 
save me. With his kind nursing and 
tender care I soon reconvalesced. That 
is the dream.” Slippysoff stared wonder- 
ingly into her blanched face, and re- 
marked : “ Remember the ides of May 1 ” 


CHAPTER XII. 


“ Aux bords d’im lat d’azur, il est une colline 
Dont le front verdoyant legerement s’incline 
Pour contempler les eaux; 

Le regard du soleil tout le jour la caresse 
Et I’haleine de I’onde y fait flotter sans cesse 
Les ombres des rameaux. ” 

The moon was fast vanishing’ from 
sight, the stars were no longer visible, 
everything looked serene and calm ex- 
cept the apparently lifeless form of Ponty- 
poff still reclining in her chair. Before 
her kneeled a full, well- developed figure, 
with raven-black hair hanging loosely 
upon her shoulders, and black eyes full 
of expression. She now bent over her 
as if she were giving her the last sacra- 
ment. 

Pontypoff whispered into her ear: I 
feel so cold, so lonesome. Do not leave 
me, for I have yet to tell you the most 
important part of my life’s story, its finale. 


no 


KING TOLSTOY^ S SYMPHONY 


The king paid me repeated calls, and each 
and every time declared his never ceasing 
love. I loved him, it is true. I wor- 
shiped him. I lived only in his pres- 
ence. In his absence I was like dying. 
He constantly urged me to at least prom- 
ise him my heart, if I could not give him 
my hand. And why did I not do so ? 
Oh! that Janus head was my talisman, 
it was a fatal talisman. His last long 
visit was on a cold, wintry night. The 
earth was covered with snow, and he 
called with his sleigh to take me out 
riding. I would have longed to go, I 
would have loved to be near him but I felt 
too weak that night. I feared that I 
might yield to his constant appeals; that 
my heart would seek repose from the 
gnawing which it had endured for many, 
many years. I consider that evening as 
important, Slippysoff, as the one on 
which he so exquisitely played the rhap- 
sody. And why? Because it was the 
first, and the last, and the only time, that 


KING TOLSTO Y^S S YM PHONY 


1 1 I 


I emptied my heart from all the refuse 
that had been accumulating in it since my 
poor, poor mademoiselle had left me. Oh ! 
how soon will I see her again? Will I ever 
hear her speak to me words of advice and 
friendship? Will I ever hear her ad- 
monish me to do right? Will I ever 
hear her say those words: ‘ Pontypoff, 
duty above all! Pontypoff, duty is the 
guide-post through life ! ’ How many 
weary evenings have I spent trying to 
find out where the path of duty led me. 
And I have studiously tried to tread, in 
humble strides, that narrow path fre- 
quented by so few. But why moralize 
with you, Slippysoff; you are so pure, so 
good, as clear as the sky above, as pure 
as the water below. For you there is 
salvation, for me — none! But I am 
again wandering from my subject. I 
must continue. 

“I will repeat to you, as near as mem- 
ory serves me, what I said to him: ‘Tols- 
toy, I loved you when I was eight years 


I 12 


KING TOLSTOY'S SYMPHONY 


old. I loved you then with a pure, un- 
trammeled child love, until my sixteenth 
year. If you had then come to me and 
said, “Pontypoff, love me as you have 
done for five years longer, and then be 
my wife,” I would have said, Yes, dear; ” 
but, after eighteen years of truant love, 
and the onus of the taking of a man’s life 
upon my shoulders, after that, I could 
never unite myself with any man. But I 
will make an exception with you. If you 
can love me as passionately, as earnestly, 
as sincerely after my absence of five 
years, if you have not in the meantime 
found another whom you love better, 
then I will agree to be your wife.’ 

strange sight then confronted me. 
A large tear, like a dew-drop, rolled 
down his cheek. I have ever since that 
day asked myself, was it evidence of joy 
or disappointment ? 

“ Days passed, months passed, finally a 
year passed. Everything continued in 
the same monotony as it had heretofore. 


KING TOLSTOY^ S SYMPHONY 


II3 


The only event of great importance was 
the arrival of an heir to the king’s sister- 
in-law. Of course there was great re- 
joicing in that household, and there al- 
ways is when a blessing is received from 
God’s hand. Yes, children are a bless- 
ing. They are innocent and naive, un- 
acquainted with the ways of the wicked 
world. They are the milk and honey of 
life. There were slight changes in the 
royal household. The master of the 
hounds had died and was succeeded by 
his son. The court physician was killed 
in a duel. Yes, that was another very 
interesting episode. It occurred in this 
manner: The king was suddenly taken 
ill, and I might as well tell you now that 
poor Tolstoy had aged very quickly in 
the last few years. Furrows and wrinkles 
covered his forehead. The young or- 
phan girl in the service of the lady of the 
linens was desperately in love with the 
assistant court surgeon. As the illness 
of the king came within the scope of the 

King Tolstoy’s Symphony 8 


KING TOLSTOY^ S SYMPHONY 


II4 


house surgeon, and he was rightfully en- 
titled to the call, the head court physician 
surreptitiously inveigled the young or- 
phan girl to deliver him the message, and 
thus gained the favor of the king. This 
base act irritated the young court physi- 
cian to such an extent that he challenged 
his once benefactor and former preceptor 
to a duel, in which he slew him.'’ 

Again a severe attack was felt by her, 
her eyes rolled wildly, until the pupil was 
no longer visible. Her emaciated limbs 
were stretched out like a jury rudder. 
She was almost in the throes of death. 
But she lingered — her thoughts were 
with him. Why did she not love him ? 
Once more she sat up in her chair, hold- 
ing herself tightly on the binnacle. It 
was now dawn. Gradually it became 
lighter. In the wake of the ship, swerv- 
ing from side to side, making use of the 
leeway, swam a black shark. 

“ Slippysoff,” she said, once more, 
•“shortly before I left he came to me, so 


KING TOLSTOY^ S SYMPHONY 115 

proud and so happy, saying, ‘ Ponty_ 
poff, for your sake I have learnt swim- 
ming, shooting and rowing; you will never 
need to fear when under my protection; 
and, dearest Pontypolf, ’ he continued, ‘ I 
have also sent for one of the greatest 
musicians of Europe — a genius — the con- 
ductor of the Court Theater at Karlsruhe. 
He has instructed me in harmony and 
composition. He, himself, is a very 
clever player, and he composed several 
original dances, which have been intro- 
duced at court; the king kept up with all 
the rapid advances made in science and 
in the professions. He abolished capital 
punishment; inaugurated a new system 
of delivering mail; helped organize, and 
was elected president pro tern, of, the 
S. P. C. C. A. ; appointed a man by the 
name of Tom Stock, who had at one 
time lived in the United States, as censor 
of the proper standard of morality to be 
used in all works of art and literature. 

I myself never got over that head- 


KING TOLSTOY^ S SYMPHONY 


1 16 


ache that I contracted.” In saying this 
she again limped about in a rather inco- 
herent manner. She was now in the last 
stages of dissolution — suffering from lo- 
comotor ataxia. 

'' But, to continue my story; the king 
wooed me year after year, his love al- 
ways became stronger, warmer, until at 
last my physician recommended me to a 
cooler climate. 

“Before leaving, the king and myself 
had a long, serious talk, and after his 
most desperate appeals, I acceded to his 
request to marry him on my return home. 
I have been abroad for several years, 
visited all the prominent faith curists, but 
alas, there seems no cure. Oh, if I were 
but to tell you of the dear friends that I 
made whilst abroad ! ” 

She again paused, and sobbed. 

“ Slippysofif, this is like a dying state- 
ment, and if I should not reach port — ah, 
but we are only eighty knots from shore 
yes, if I should not see him alive, tell 


KING TOLSTOY^ S SYMPHONY 


117 


him of some of niy experiences abroad, 
especially of the dear friends I left be- 
hind me. Oh! I never knew what it 
was to bathe in the embrace, to lie on 
the heaving bosom of a dear, good friend. 
One — yes, the memory of one I will 
take with me yonder, for she was a no- 
bility in character, her soul as pure as 
transmitted light, her heart ever beating 
for one in distress. Poor girl! how she 
suffered to see me go ; she feared it would 
be the last meeting. Yes, good Jules 
Renck! Oh, her eyes will ne’er meet 
mine again; and there is one other, and 
if the king can console himself to the 
thought of losing me, if he could bestow 
his love on her, she would be worthier of 
it than I ; she is as true as Damascus steel ; 
oh, tell hhn, dear Slippysoff, that she 
loves him because he loved me so dearly 
— she promised to write to him and tell 
him to treat her nicely. Her name is 
Adolphine Volkhardt — oh she is worthy 
of the worthiest.” 


1 1 8 KING TOLSTO Y^S S YMPHONY 


Again the paroxysms of locomotor 
ataxia attacked her. Would death not 
be a welcome relief ? No; for she longed 
to see him once more. She yearned to 
look upon the Polner, to gaze upon the 
beautiful white sand, to fondle those 
little urchins who had been the sunshine 
of her declining years. 

Death was fast approaching. Again 
she spoke: “ We shall soon all be 
happy.” Her breathing was already dif- 
ficult; her chin quivered; her hands 
trembled; suddenly with terrific force she 
made another effort to rise, but it was in 
vain. Her head sunk until it was deeply 
buried in her knees. She tried to speak; 
her mouth mechanically opened and 
closed. It is growing dark” were the 
only and last words spoken by her. The 
rigor mortis had set in. She was grow- 
ing cold. 

Several days later a vessel, entirely 
manned by women, sailed into the harbor 
of Jusanoff. Part of their cargo con- 


kING TOLS TOY'S S YMPHON Y 


iig 


sisted of the last remains of a once beau- 
tiful woman — Pontypoff. Even in death 
her face betrayed that mysterious and 
inexplicable look which had accompanied 
her through life. 

King Tolstoy^s health had also been 
failing for some time, he was no longer 
the hero of romance, the combatant in 
the struggle of life. He was a sufferer. 
The sad news was the final blow, the 
necessary means of destroying him. 
Paresis developed into mania, and while 
in a fit of raging madness he succumbed. 

Love will out. 

“ Mortals, they softly say. 

Peace to thy heart ! 

We, too, yes mortal, 

Have been as thou art. ” 


FINIS. 




Qi 








A LITERARY GEM 


Mademoiselle de Matipin, 

A ROMANCE OF LOVE AND PASSION. 

By THEOPHILE GAUTIER. 

(2 mo, 413 pages. Paper covers. Illustrated with 16 
Half-tones from the original etchings 
by Toudouze. 


“The golden book of spirit and sense, th>. Holy Writ of beauty.”— yl. C. Swinburne. 
“Gautier is an inimitable model. His manner is so light and true, so really cre- 
ative, his fancy so alert, his taste so happy, his humor so genial, that he makes illusion 
almost as contagious as laughter.” — Mr. Henry y antes. 


“MADEMOISELLE DE MAUPIN/^ the latest product of the pea of 
Theophile Gautier, is considered by the best critics of this inimitable 
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created. 

“MADEMOISELLE DE MAUPIN'^ Is alive with the characteristic vigor 
shown in “Albertus,” “Les Jeunes — France,” and “Poesies de 
Theophile Gautier,” his earlier works, but is more delicate, and 
abounds in the subtle cynicism which contrasts so delightfully with the 
pungent wit that sparkles on every page. 

The book is a marvel of beauty, both from an artistic as well as a 
typographical standpoint 


FOR SALE AT ALL BOOK STORES AND NEWS STANDS AND ON ALL 
RAILROAD TRAINS. 

LAIRD & LEE, Publishers. 

CHICAGO, ILLINOIS. 





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